<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Breathe by Kimarusama</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345616">Breathe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimarusama/pseuds/Kimarusama'>Kimarusama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mild Sex Scene, Oral Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:06:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimarusama/pseuds/Kimarusama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Man is least himself when he speaks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell the truth ~ Oscar Wilde~</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aizen Sousuke/Hirako Shinji, Hirako Shinji/Urahara Kisuke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sequel to Snip.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Give him a mask, and he will tell the truth ~ Oscar Wilde~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The air outside in the musty alley hits your face like a blast of warm breath when you stumble out of a bar in the wee hours of the morning; the low, sultry notes of a jazz ensemble and raucous laughter filtering out the door before it closes behind you.</p><p>A paltry crescent moon is still visible on its journey west, and the stars are endless and… more than there should be surely and dancing…?</p><p>You’ve been drinking tonight. The main thing you’d intended not to do. The idea was to just have one, a teaser for the night’s activities, but you ended up staying longer than usual and having several – not much really, but just enough to make the stars look like they’re dancing to the sax tune still stuck in your head.</p><p>It was hard to believe that it had been twenty years since you all left Soul Society – left putting it politely. But it has, and every year, you, the other captains and vice-captains and Urahara have a get-together or more appropriately – a night where you could drink freely and be loud to an excuse because you never really talked about what happened that night. The others discussed it at length buy you just shrink away, or ignore them. But you’d drink a little more.</p><p>It used to be ritual for all of them, the first couple years, a chance to rant and curse and complain and get it all out, but they stopped. The others were too bitter and thought training and getting stronger a better investment of the time than discussing Aizen – even though it was only one day a year for a couple of hours. The hurt for them was still fresh, is still fresh.</p><p>You and Urahara were still willing, so you continued to carry on the custom. Sometimes you wondered if it was because you were the two that felt the most responsible or the two that felt the most remorseful, rather than angry, about how things turned out; about how it could’ve been stopped with a bit more care and a more watchful eye. </p><p>You sometimes even wonder if you continue, because he continues.  He likes to drink and pretend he’s not drunk and you like to watch him.</p><p>The small alleyways and side roads feel stifling, and also you’re lost. A quick jump and you’re above the cityscape, taking it all in blankly. There’s a breeze up here, so you pop open the small top button of your shirt and raise your neck greedily towards it. You cool down faster now, without all that hair.</p><p>You get there quickly in a few jumps – which you could’ve done from the beginning – but your feet were just doing their own thing, guiding you to absolutely nowhere. The shop is unnaturally dark and you slip inside quietly knowing that somewhere the former captain is lurking and furious that you kept him waiting for hours. Maybe he’d gone to sleep, waiting for you.</p><p>Walking quietly through darkened hallways you know exactly where you’re going – where he should be.<br/>It’s a small, plain tatami room with only a cabinet and table to furnish it and a large window.  It was crowded and noisy before, but it’s eerily quiet with just two. You know this room like the back of your hand and it’s what you expect to see, but you are startled upon entering to find a vastly larger room, opening to a veranda and a backyard garden.</p><p> It doesn’t really surprise you that Urahara is capable of something like this, changing a space that would have been otherwise unchangeable. After he first introduced you to his basement for training you were bewildered so this, this was nothing.</p><p> You just wonder why he did.</p><p>Sitting outside on the verandah under the streaming moonlight is Urahara, sake beside him, laid out neatly for him and his guest.</p><p>He doesn’t turn around but you know he knows you’re there. </p><p>You take in his head of messy hair and broad shoulders – which seem a little tense – for a tentative minute more before letting yourself in, closing the door securely behind you, and moving to sit beside him.</p><p>You shed your coat, sit next to him, and whistle. “Whew, you’ve been busy, Kisuke?” You call him Kisuke now. It just rolls off your tongue, like sweet honey, but you find, it always comes out as an uncertain whisper. You can’t help it.</p><p>“A new addition. Do you like it?”</p><p>You take it in better now, even blinking away some of the alcohol but not the goosebumps on your skin.</p><p>“It…” looks exactly like the one I had in the 5th. You are utterly dismayed.  It brings back stupid memories. Why did he do this? “It’s horrible. Should’ve asked me ta design it for ya.” It might be a coincidence that it looked like the same one you had. After all, it’s been so long. Maybe your memory is skewed. Not as much as it should be though, because you still remember your haori sliding off your shoulders on a night quite like this, small kisses being placed on the side of your neck, warm against the cold air. There’s a hand at the side of your face, the thumb is circling slowly over your ear, and the other fingers knowingly play at the nape of your neck making you shiver with delight. The light kissing becomes sucking. Fuck. Breathe. 10,9,8,7,6 – </p><p>“I think it’s perfect,” Urahara says, smiling and turning to face you for the first time. His smile slides off his face in a way that scares you. He stares at your face expressionlessly. Is he offended by your lack of enthusiasm? Do you have a weird look on your face? You look down at your lap just to make sure.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Ah, those clothes really suit you. I see you’re fitting in nicely,” Urahara compliments softly, tugging at your snugly fitting waistcoat. He loops his forefinger under the chain that connects to your watch that rests in your vest pocket. You eye him from under your hat which you have not yet taken off, trying not to be too flustered by his lingering hand. It is a rare thing to receive flattery from Kisuke, even more so about your clothing. “But to be honest, you’ve always penchant for human things,’’ he adds thoughtfully, looking back to your face. You wish he’d look away.</p><p>You couldn’t very well keep wearing your shinigami clothes and Urahara has developed a fondness for green. You don’t even notice until you’re complimented about your own clothing and in turn look over to properly examine Urahara’s, that the man isn’t wearing his trademark green striped hat nor shop keeper’s attire. He’s in a simple white shirt, unbuttoned and black slacks. Something so casual and normal seems almost out of place on him. He doesn’t prefer modern clothes.</p><p>“Whatcha dressed up for?”</p><p>“This special occasion.”</p><p>“What’s so special about it?”</p><p>Urahara smiles, pouring a serving of sake for you and then for himself. “If it did not hold some meaning, we would not be here.”</p><p>True, but you don’t comment. It isn’t special, it just… had a meaning. That could be either good or bad.</p><p>Urahara downs his sake in one swift movement, while you’re too shocked to touch your own. Not known for his handling of alcohol, Kisuke’s tenacity is surprising. He looks up at the bright full moon, and you at him. His clothing choice is still strange to you but very pleasing. His scruff is gone. He looks too clean. The shirt fits his body too well. Perfectly.</p><p>You catch yourself being staring too long. Everything this night just feels so surreal. You drink. </p><p>‘‘It’s been twenty years.’’ It’s solemn. It’s weighted. You look down to the pond at two koi languidly circling each other.</p><p>‘‘Do you still think about it? Our time in Soul Society?’’</p><p>‘‘Not like ya ta get sentimental.’’ </p><p>He says nothing. He still awaits an answer you see. Well, better now than later you suppose.  It’s been a long time coming.</p><p>‘‘It comes ta mind. I try not to let it. Sosuke, that bastard,’’ you grit out quietly. A serious conversation once in a while isn’t so bad but talking about it hurts. Words make it real. Thinking about it hurts too but you can forget to think sometimes, get distracted by the insignificant parts of life. Raging about it makes it tolerable to a degree but searching your soul like this definitely makes it sting. </p><p>You don’t want to do this. </p><p>Kisuke finally pulls his gaze from the moon and fixes it on you now. ‘‘You ever wonder if he had a reason for what he did?’’</p><p>You flinch reflexively. ‘‘Reason?! What fuckin’ reason could he have for ruining our lives other than that he’s a sick son of a bitch. He just wanted to win.’’ You take another angry drink. This is better for you. Allowing anger to take you rather than even giving the question rational thought.</p><p>Urahara grins but it’s slow and remorseful. His eyes look sad. The koi are swimming faster.</p><p>‘‘Do you hate him?’’ he asks after some silence. The question stills you. Yes should roll off your tongue without hesitation, without effort. Without thinking. It’s something you’ve constantly repeated in your mind, felt deep down every time his name was mentioned. But now you remember his fingers across your lower back. You can hear the jazz music, his tongue in your mouth, languid, erotic. Fuck. You’re getting hard. You’ve clearly had too much to drink tonight. You know you have because even the memory of him standing before your half hollowfied form grinning, gloating, doesn’t make you angry like it usually does nor does it temper your arousal. </p><p>‘‘Doesn’t matter.’’ The jazz music is getting louder in your ears, the full moon so big and so bright.</p><p>‘I'm sorry.’’ He looks at you intently, turning his body to you, and you freeze. </p><p>‘‘Fer what?’’</p><p>Kisuke’s eyes glimmer in the moonlight. Hypnotic. ‘‘I should’ve been able to stop him. I saw it coming. It’s my fault all of this happened. I was too late.’’</p><p>‘‘If it’s yer fault, it’s mine too. I ignored the signs. I thought I could handle him as long as I had him close to me. I thought nothing could happen. I got careless. I- I…’’ Your tongue feels heavy. These words were never spoken. ‘‘I thought he wasn’t a threat.’’</p><p>‘‘Unwarranted feelings do cloud one’s judgment.’’ You try feverishly to understand what was just said because you feel dizzy now.  Your mind feels hazy because now the Koi are gone from the pond and all that remains is the glowing reflection of the moon within it. Feelings? What is he talking about? Does he know? Your eyes widen. You feel something cold land in the pit of your stomach. Is he disgusted? Angry?</p><p>‘‘That’s why I can’t think clearly,’ ’ he continues ‘‘… when it comes to you…’’  </p><p>And it’s here where your heart stops beating entirely.</p><p> Urahara presses a hand on your stomach pushing you to the wooden floor roughly. The man who you’ve been pining for, for years crawls towards you, and you’ll be damned if it isn’t one of the sexiest things you’ve ever seen. He inches closer until one of his knees is squarely between your legs, putting pressure on your now noticeable erection. You can still hear music, a little louder. It sounds as if it’s coming from the corner. It sounds strange to think it, but the notes are making the air thick and heady and every time you breathe you feel the blood in your veins boiling, filling you with want.</p><p>He’s so close to you and you’re absolutely aching for him. You look up at him, realizing that his shirt is unbuttoned far enough and hanging down off his frame that you have an unobstructed view of his chest, his nipples flushed and rigid. You yearn to touch them, but his body still feels unattainable. This can’t be real. He notices you staring, and takes your fingers in his own, drawing them into his hot mouth to make them slick then navigating your hand inside his shirt. When your finger brushes over a hard nipple he exhales, his eyelids closing with pleasure. A squeeze of said nipple between your fingers gets you a wanton moan that makes you blush.</p><p>He hovers above you, warmth radiating off of his body. The knee is removed and you feel some form of thought return to your brain. They scatter when he places that same knee on the outside on your leg so he can sink down, allowing your bodies to touch, gracing you with the feel of his own protruding erection.</p><p>Your body does want him. So much. But your heart is absolutely thrumming when you think of him saying, ‘‘that’s why I can’t think clearly when it comes to you.’’</p><p>He starts to grind slowly, rolling his hips as smooth as waves against the shore. Your intake of breath is sharp. You pat his shoulder frantically for him to stop. Your pride wouldn’t recover if he continues. A good minute or two is all you’re worth right now, so you focus on breathing deeply.</p><p>‘I’ve always wanted to hold you like this,’’ he whispers in your ear heatedly, making you moan shamelessly. This is what you want, you think. This is right. This is how it should be – how it should’ve been. You only wanted him to see you like this... to feel you like this. Only him.</p><p>‘K-Kisuke.’’</p><p>He dips his head down, running his tongue along the length of your neck making your back arch and when you do, he slips a deft behind and around you, sliding it down your pants. You give a flimsy halfhearted attempt to scurry away but he doesn’t let you. He outweighs you and that was hardly an escape attempt. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to, and you can’t imagine a world in which you would want to. In fact, he uses that to pull you closer to him, rolling his hips against yours with so much skill, logic wants to tear a seam in your ecstasy to ask you when he’d learn this – where and with whom.</p><p>You can’t take much more, to your embarrassment. He’s breathing hard. You push him up with a little more force and he finally stops, elevating his body by his forearms. You watch the veins snake down his forearms and shiver.</p><p>‘‘Y-You drunk, Kisuke?’’Every part of you wants this. But you do not want a drunken tryst with awkward apologies the next day. Nights like these were the makers or breakers of relationships. It would not be a mistake for you but you couldn’t be sure about him, who’d been drinking even though his face was the picture of sobriety. Kisuke could probably move on, but what scares you is your insatiable need for him. One taste is worse than none at all.</p><p>You know the look on your face must be pathetic – a mixture of need and lust tossed with hope – because you know you won’t get the answer you are looking for but you are hoping foolishly you do. You want him but no matter what the answer, you just introduced logical thought back into the mix therefore everything is ruined.</p><p>‘‘I'm not drunk,’’ he says with a clear, sure voice, leaning closer to take off your hat that is precariously still sitting on your head, and brushing your hair back from your forehead. His expression looks pathetic too. You don’t feel so bad anymore. ‘‘But I’m sorry. I can’t stop. I’ve been waiting too long for this.’’ You can hear the lust saturating in his voice. ‘‘You are so beautiful.’’ This is a different voice and it makes you twitch. Adoring. Reverent. It melts you. He melts you.</p><p>You want him to have you so you nod, giving him all he needs.</p><p>He pins both your slim wrists above your head in his hand. You note the lack of pressure. He’s so gentle. His free hand explores your body under your shirt, ever so often ghosting over your clothed erection, giving it a squeeze. Teasing. He is right. It has been too long and you can’t wait. You have no idea why you even stopped him in the first place.</p><p>This is unlike any dream you’ve had, any fantasy you’ve imagined, any daytime scenario you cooked up laying around under the afternoon sun. He knows how to please you, how to make your body happy. The music is deafening.</p><p>He releases your hands, instead choosing to lock his fingers with yours. There’s a moment where you just look at each other, wordlessly accepting the moment and all that’s transpiring, and silently agree to it. Then he kisses you. It’s the way he kisses you. His mouth is hot and every time his tongue curls around yours you moan, your two minutes shortening to seconds. You don’t care. It feels too good. The movement of his tongue has a direct pull on your cock and with each stroke, you feel your climax being extracted, pulled from the depths level by level. Your hips are moving uncontrollably to the rhythm of his tongue. </p><p>You’re surrendering.   You feel the smile on his lips.</p><p>You almost whimper when he pulls away to cup your face with his hand and trail his warm lips down your neck, over your earlobe, and forcing his hot ravenous tongue inside your ear, the wet noises very obscene. You clench down on his fingers, hissing like air escaping through a small hole. You feel it building. Your seconds are up.</p><p>His breath is warm on your ear, his voice low, sultry, imploring.</p><p> </p><p>‘‘I –’’ He hesitates. </p><p>Your heartbeat quickens. ‘‘Don’t stop, please. Say it.’’</p><p> ‘‘Why did you cut your beautiful hair, Captain Hirako?’’</p><p> </p><p>Breathe.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It had all been a game for you. You like games.  You like the excitement of playing, and even better, the satisfaction of winning. Your new captain was too easy to see. Easy to read. Easy to map. This wouldn’t even be a challenge for you.</p><p> A victory so clear was nothing more than domination.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~</p><p> </p><p>From the get-go, his lack of trust in you was obvious. Without knowing him too well – and frankly without needing too – it oozed out in his words and behaviors.  You didn’t care if he did. Without proof of anything, he was just a paranoid captain. Anyone who knew you would vouch differently anyway. This ludicrous joke of a man actually thinks he can outwit you?</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>He wants to play a game you notice. He wants you to know of his distrust of you. It wasn’t just that he was obliviously transparent. He wanted to be. He wants you to know you’re not a threat to him so he allows you to be as close as you want to be. It’s intriguing, this game he wants to play. You often feel his eyes on you. Calculating. Trying to figure you out. It’s amusing. You try not to breakout in a smile when you feel him, seething when the most mundane of things you do turns out to be nothing nefarious. You do smile when you catch his hand hovering close to his sword when your hands move a quarter of an inch closer to your pockets. With him, it’s always world destruction. His untrusting nature will bring his ruin.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>You find the new captain… interesting. There’s a hidden power beneath that unassuming exterior of his. Not unlike your own captain. You sense something powerful within this man that is worth keeping an eye on. It is even a little frightening. And that’s the only reason why you followed your captain here to his division. You watch them quietly, safely out of view behind your barrier.  There’s an odd way in which your captain is speaking even though his face is a flat landscape of no emotion. His eyes are downcast.  </p><p>You don’t like it.</p><p> Your captain who looks at you with nothing but contempt, who mistrusted you from day one because his senses told him to be cautious, is seemingly oblivious in the face of this man. Blinded. Maybe he’s not as smart as you thought he was. You’d given him the benefit of the doubt too. You don’t know when you got distracted but your captain is leaving. He’s passing by you, allowing you only a momentarily clear view of his nonchalant face before he rips away your disguise with frightening ease.  You try to hide the tremor going through your body but not the smile that pulls at your lips. What a scary man. You’ll have to watch him closer.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>Captain Hirako is a strong man. Sometimes you forget that behind his frail-looking body lies the strength of a captain. It’s easy to. He pretends to be silly, but because of his strong personality, it isn’t off-putting… more entertaining. You play the role of course. But on a few occasions, you throw around a little smile at his antics, its real one.  Watching him in his unguarded moments when he isn’t pretending to be stupid is sobering. In his stoic moments, his angular jaw set and his hair billowing around him – when he’s not sticking out his tongue or pulling down his lower lids –  when he’s quite still and pensive… he’s actually quite beautiful.  His face is unlike anything you’ve seen before. You can admit mentally he has striking features. He usually stares off, blank-faced but when he concentrates, when he’s’ fully himself in his show of power, he’s intimidating. A captain. Radiant. Something to behold. An opponent.</p><p>Interesting.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>It’s on a hot summer day while you’re doing his reports and barely hiding your urge to kill him that you first notice it. Fully notice the enchanting glimmer of his golden hair in the sun. You’ve seen it but you’ve never noticed it. You get up, in a daze, and go out to where he’s lying, under a tree. You can’t help but run your fingers through it. It’s just as soft as it looks. You’re surprised he let you touch it, but you know he’s coiled like a snake ready to strike.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~</p><p> </p><p>You make it your mission to make him uncomfortable. To invade his personal space as much as you can and watch him struggle to make sense of your actions. You’re under the impression that he simply thinks this is another level of the game. And it is. You intend to push every single button he has. He brushes you away when he feels your presence, but allows you the feel of his hair. But all this closeness is having the opposite effect on you.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>Your first sexual encounter with him is unplanned, but all to further the goal; to get his complete and utter trust. He’s drunk, you’re impatient. It’s rough. He’s so delicate – you think, despite knowing better – but he seems to enjoy it. The pain makes him feel. You see more expressions than you think his face is capable of showing. You’re expecting the worst tomorrow; his walls back up and even higher and stronger than before. This is a line that should not have been crossed, you thought in hindsight.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>Captain Hirako did not in fact push you away nor did he pretend the night never happened. He still looked at you wearily but it was less now.  He did not swat you away as much with your constant petting. He still stares blankly sometimes, especially when a certain captain is in the vicinity and you barely control yourself from disintegrating your reports into dust. You have no qualms with being a substitute. This is unbefitting behavior. Shame makes your face hot.</p><p>The scales are tipping.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>You seek him out more often for physical pleasure, knowing he won’t reject you, knowing he needs something to dull his pain. And you’re there, ready to make him forget. He never does. This cannot heal him. You don’t care. The benefit is mutual, he gets a distraction and you get… </p><p>These minor things are of little concern to you now. Anything to distract him and win this war.</p><p>The time approaches.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>All at once the futility in what you are doing hits you, stopping you dead where you walk. You’re a fool who has obviously lost his way. There is no conceivable reason why you are sneaking around the outside of his private quarters, lured by the sound of music.</p><p> You’d overheard him discussing a new record with captain Urahara yesterday. Your hands balled into fists at your sides. There is no way. There’s no way the other captain is in there.  And anyway if he was you would feel his presence. Wouldn’t you?</p><p>It’s none of your business though, is it?</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~~</p><p>You think you’re well hidden but you should know better. There’s no hiding from him.  You told yourself you weren’t really trying to anyway. He’s alone.</p><p> He’s alone.</p><p>He looks worn. His face is very pale, but it could be the moonlight streaming in from outside. His mood says leave me alone, I’m not in the mood for your shit. Your educated guess as to his mood change would be correct. You approach his dejected frame, wanting to enfold him within yourself. His music has a sweet tone to it tonight you think. You pull him to you, leading him in a slow dance. You’re a fool.</p><p>He tells you to leave and he sounds quite serious. Your stomach clenches for all but a second. Something tells you if you leave now, it’ll be the last time you see him, the last time to feel him. You feel him on the cusp of a horrible decision you would not like.</p><p>You push playfully and he surrenders. Something tells you that he is as fragile as he looks. You wish not to break him. You want to show him he doesn’t have to hurt to feel. You hate the fact that that man has to power to do this. Fearful indeed he was.</p><p>In your stilted dance with him this close to you, hands clasped in yours you have a frightening thought. You wish to have him. You had felt the scales tipping but little did you know it was to topple you to your own ruin. </p><p>You’d lost. Even worse, you were unaware of it until now that it has you by the throat.</p><p>You know before the night is over that it is one you’ll never forget.</p><p>You vow never to look upon him again.</p><p> </p><p>Breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Hueco Mundo is an infinitely sterile, barren wasteland of a place. You’ve made it. You pulled off your plan and immaculate betrayal right under their noses. Your feet touch the sand and you look around at what you’ve been working towards. Its splendor. All great things require sacrifice to some degree. It was a length you were willing to go to, to further your accomplishment. It was easy. Necessary. Therefore you have no misgivings about anything that needed to be done. You close your eyes and you see his – wide, frightful, confused. Full of untethered rage and…. Hurt.</p><p>You do not regret shedding anything that hinders you from rising.</p><p> </p><p>Breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Time is indefinite here. The days feel like endless cycles of nothing and it’s hard to discern the passage of time without a grounding agent. You don’t know how much time has passed. It holds no real significance. </p><p>The days are tolerable. There’s enough noise and activity to imbue the white sands with some sort of life. You’re mostly busy as well. Your mind occupied with various other plans. Sometimes you’re thinking, and your gaze would shift out to countless white clouds floating in the blue skies. You start to think of summer. Of peering through shifting leaves revealing a blue sky, of looking down on your lap, and feeling the weight of his head, comforting, but more so is his trust. He’s asleep. This was no easy feat but over some time, it happened. He’d never dared close his eyes around you. He’d pretend to but he never really did. Unless you caught him unguarded, which didn’t last too long. He was too good. His hair fans off on either side of his face, as fragile as the rays of sunlight. You couldn’t help a small smile. If he’d seen it, he’d call you a creep. This didn’t faze you. But you’re glad he didn’t see that one- you felt it somehow different to the others. Transparent. Though he’d likely misread it. You’re grateful for his caution. He always thinks you’re jesting. You take in the fine features of his small face. Taking your glasses off, you lean down closer. He’s awake now, you sense, but remains just as still. It doesn’t stop you. You lean down till you are close enough and connect your lips. Pulling up an inch or so to look at his face you see him looking at you. His face always a blank canvas but his eyes are open books. They’re lidded, heavy, his eyebrows relaxed. You hate this expression.</p><p>You kiss him again.</p><p> </p><p>Breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes it’s crushing, the utter nothingness of this place, to be surrounded yet alone.  A small window space allows you a glimpse of the black sky and desolate waning moon. You seldom dream. That’s why you a certain this isn’t one. Are memories this strong?</p><p>You hold him close to you. The moonlight bathes him. You are so beautiful.  You kiss him softly to reinforce the unspoken words. He’s completely pliant in your hands. You guide him to sit on the floor and you follow him down.</p><p>Gently you slide off his haori, placing kisses down his neck and playing with the light hair at its nape. You know from experience that he fully enjoys this. He’s keening and leaning into you but you’re aware of him catching himself. He pushes you down roughly, climbing on top of you, making the most heavenly of connections when the weight of his body puts pressure on your erection and does something he’s never done before. He’s usually rough, but he leaves the reigns to you. He allows you to do as you please, but he never concerns himself with your pleasure. Now his hands are all over your body, this is unusual. You freeze. His fingers find your nipples and play with them. He suckles on one, softer than you’d imagine he would. Pleasure shoots through you and before you know it, you moan loudly. Very loudly. He stops immediately, jerking up to look at you.</p><p>‘‘Tha hell was that?’’</p><p>You almost want to hit yourself for getting carried away. His eyes are wide before he bursts out in a laugh. ‘‘Sosuke? Hey, what was that? I’ve never heard you do that before.’’ His laughter continues. You realize you’ve never heard it before.</p><p>Red-faced, you move to force him off and regain control but with an impressive show of strength, he keeps you right where you are. There’s a malicious look in his eye. ‘‘Captain? Captain, no. Wait!’’ He smirks. You know he’s about to torture you. </p><p>He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue to release a stream of saliva. You get harder, watching it on its way down until connects and pools and he doesn’t miss a beat, his mouth engulfs it in a second and it sends you swirling. Your fingers clutch at his hair and he looks up at you in the most erotic way. He’s not finished though. He roughly releases your cock and sinks it deep into his mouth, taking care to drag his tongue at the back of it all the way up, adding a few extra swirls whenever he reaches the tip. You find he’s insanely good at this. When his left hand and mouth aren’t moving in tandem, his right hand keeps a painful but pleasurable hold on your nipple. He’s slow, careful, moaning as he does this. For your benefit? Because you don’t need it.  </p><p> This alone is too much for you. Way too much. You come with a scream through clenched teeth and a firm grip in his hair, the muscles in your neck twitching. </p><p>‘Oi!’’</p><p>‘I'm so sorry,’’ you wheeze, releasing his hair, your fingers still reflexively opening and closing as the orgasm very slowly fades.</p><p>He crawls back over you, taking you in with awe. You’re awed yourself. His kimono is down, exposing a slender shoulder, his face shining from sweat, his lips swollen and pink. He’s a sight. You will always remember him like this. In this moment. In this glow. There’s a long moment of you taking each other in silently – almost silently – you’re still shaking and harder than you’d like.</p><p>He does something even odder. He leans over to kiss you softly and smiles. ‘‘Glad ya enjoyed it.’’</p><p>You grip the back of his neck deepening it as much as is possible. I always do. I –  </p><p> </p><p>Breathe</p><p> </p><p>You think you’re unseen, but you feel him hidden behind a pillar, his fox-like eyes knowing. You stop.</p><p>He says nothing at first, then says, ‘‘Be careful.’’ You hear the smile in the voice.</p><p>You say nothing. You take a second to reflect on your stupidity. And then, you’re gone.</p><p> </p><p>Unwarranted feelings do cloud one’s judgment</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>